The Wingless Chocolate Angel
by PetPetAngel
Summary: Yaoi [Older Charlie x W.W.] Charlie's life has been perfect untill a rough patch hits him hard. When his family's concern isn't enough, who better to come to his rescue than Willy Wonka?


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PetPetAngel: It's finished. OMFG, it's _finally_ done. I was determined to get it done before midnight! And it's still way too short, only eight some pages... Oh well, I'm extrememly proud of this! Yesh, yesh I am!

Trespasser: I hate this pairing...

PetPetAngel: You hate Yaoi.

Trespasser: Exactly.

PetPetAngel: Whatever. Please, I need reviews for this especially.

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Warning(s): Yaoi/Slash/Shounen-ai, which in other words is dude on dude, guy on guy, you know... Um... I think that's it.

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Disclaimer: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (C) Tim Burton (damn... Almost put Butch Hartman) Willy Wonka (C) Johnny Depp. And same for the rest of the cast, I should hope... Unless someone else has already "owned" them...

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**_Important A/N: Charlie's house is not inside the factory as it was in the movie, because I needed it outside the factory for a certain scene. Thank you and that is all._**

Important A/N2: The lack of part of Wonka's personality (his quirkiness specifically) is due to the situations he's in. 

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Chocolate Angel

Written by:

PetPetAngel

Fic Type: One-Shot

Pairing: Older Charlie/Wonka

Dedication: Helga22 for inspiring the couple.

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_What if he's an angel sent here from Heaven?  
And he's making certain that you're doing your best,  
To take the time to help one another,  
Brother are you going to pass that test?  
You can go on with your day to day,  
Trying to forget what you saw in his face,  
Knowing deep down it could have been his saving grace...  
What if he's an angel?_

- What if She's an Angel by Tommy Shane Steiner

X

Wonka was a happy man. That he was. Humming lightly to himself, his heels tapping lightly on the sidewalk beneath him, a few camera clicks stalking him, he smiled as he headed to the small house in the near distance; if so there was such a thing. He loved that little house, humbled more so than the rest, seeming the only thing that dared to be different in the endless pattern of houses. The clicking eventually went away, to his absolute relief, and as he came to the house his smiled widened.

He rapped his knuckles -yes, his knuckles, his bare knuckles- lightly on the door and when he heard the muffled calling of 'come in' he did just that, and saw the grandparents in bed, Charlie -now fourteen, almost fiveteen- at his desk, his father away and his mother cooking, stirring a pot in an almost mechanical motion. Her eyes were bright though, and out of the corner of his eye, Wonka saw Charlie perk up at his arrival, causing his grin to widen even more than before. Paco, the dog that he had given Charlie when he had been younger, hopped and bounced by his legs, -a little thing he was- barely reaching his knees. Wonka gave the dog a few pets, then turned his attention back to Charlie.

Charlie's grin was wide as well when his eyes met Wonka's, and Wonka turned quickly away and took off his jacket, but he didn't miss how Charlie's smile disappeared briefly, causing him to frown briefly as well. But as Mrs. Bucket came to help him, he smiled a smile, -a plastic smile- hiding his slight confusion. He could never let anyone know just how he confused he was, how confused he was right now, how confused he was all the time. Though Charlie had healed most of him, some hurts go too deep.

But that was okay, because he could keep hiding if he needed to. Just lower his head in the slightest, and the brim of his hat could hide everything that he couldn't, his hat brim could hide everything that his eyes would give away. But that was okay, because there was a bit of a coward in all of us, and we all feared something. Wonka feared failure; he feared rejection worst of all, god damn his father on that count.

But he wouldn't get caught up in that now.

Sure, he had finally confronted his father after over a decade, and sure, they go along, but Wonka was sure that he would never, ever, _completely_ forgive his father, not for all the put-downs, not for refusing to call him by his name. Wonka couldn't remember in his childhood when his father had called him 'Willy,' for that was his name. But no, it was always 'William.' And most of all, he could never, _ever_ forgive him for the fear he had instowed in his heart as a child. He would never forgive him for the cowardace that he made him feel...

But he still wasn't going to get caught up in the past.

He was offered a seat and he took it graciously, the conversation leading along the normal lines, 'any new creations?' 'Ideas?' 'Charlie's hasn't said anything...' And the like. As usual, Charlie stayed silent through the encounter, just like he always did, for he was a quiet one, around his family and Wonka as well, though he's sure he's a bit more used to him than he was. That was one thing he was sure of, but he wasn't sure that counted.

Charlie was always the one in the back, wasn't he? The one that observed first, then acted, wasn't he? He was the shy innocent boy that so many parents would wish to be their own child, wasn't he? He saved me, Wonka thought to himself, he saved me from myself and what I thought I would be damned to become. But he saved me, the little boy. Wonka smiled to himself, -a genuine smile- and rested his head in his hands. He hadn't noticed the time go on with the small talk, he hated wasted time, but time with the Buckets was never wasted time.

He rose sharply, -flinched at the scratching of the chair on the wood floor - and bid Charlie's parents and grandparents farewell, but one last request was made. "Would you see if Charlie is asleep?" He nodded and climbed up the ladder, the wood feeling rough against his hands, but he peeked a head in and then his whole body, took the few steps it took to get to Charlie's bedside, and noted that the boy's breathing was even and his eyes were shut. For a moment , Wonka was mesmerized by the steady rise and fall of Charlie's chest, and the trance was broken when Charlie turned to face Wonka, and he swore he heard Charlie breathe out his name lightly.

He left quickly after that.

X

"...And my heartbeat had sped up and it was really... Weird," Wonka used these choice words, explaining his situation to the Oompa Loompa. "And... Unexpected... I'm not even sure I heard him right but my heart jumped to my throat and I think I was blushing..." Wonka took a moment to observe the silent Oompa Loompa, who was writing in a small notepad, sitting on the same large red leather armchair that he had been years before when Charlie had denied heir to the Factory.

He continued nonetheless.

"And it kind of bothered me because that's the normal reaction when you're in love..." He trailed off and his eyes widened to an impossibly large size, "But- But-!" He cut himself off and stared at the Oompa Loompa in wonder until a wide grin came over him. "You're really good!" He exclaimed. The Oompa Loompa stopped writing, looked over the rim of his half moon spectacles and took them off, then nodded appreciatively.

Wonka knew though, he still had a lot to think about.

Heading to the Inventing Room, where he was sure he could find a considerable amount of chaos and discord to take his mind off things, he came to the glass elevator and went in, pushed the button and leaned heavily against the wall. I'm getting too old for this, for love... It's too late. And there's no way on _or_ off earth that he could possibly reciprotate the feeling. Perhaps it was cynical, but blame his father, for from him he had learned that it was often stupid and pointless to hope, that it was.

Then what got you this factory?

Wonka wasn't -entirely- sure that his only response counted, but he, -for once- surrended to his conscious and agree. Hope had given him this factory, hope that there was something better, something greater beyond his father and his rediculous rules. His conscious spoke again, But those 'rediculous rules' scared you, didn't they? You were afraid of your father, and you know he's the only person now who could control you, of course you know that. You're still afraid, his conscious mocked him. He knew it was right.

He stared at his gloves, flexed his fingers in them, and his eyes narrowed. I'm still as much as a coward than when I was younger. Even though I could take off my gloves outside of this factory, touch everything and acknowledge it was there, because out of this factory, I had moved on, Wonka thought, on the other hand, inside the factory, where the reminder of the reasons, and circumstances, and even of my father, I was covered head to toe, as though I'm still hiding from him...

Even though he had already arrived at the inventing room, and several Oompa Loompas were staring at him curiously, Wonka pushed the button to the Chocolate Room, when he could just calm down and think. He hadn't known he would get caught up in _everything,_ he had been hoping it would end before it really got started, but his silent hopes were crushed (ironic, really, he thought, still hoping) and fell upon deaf ears.

Casually, he laid in the grass, not really caring what clung to his clothes, and put his arms behind his head. Thoughts whirred around in his head, his stomach was churning, but not as though if he were to vomit, but for the anxiety. He groaned, closed his eyes, and tipped his hat down to cover them, hiding again. He just hoped he wouldn't be interrupted, because he knew, that this was something he needed to think about a lot more deeply than usual, maybe even more deeply than his candy-making; and candy-making was his life.

As he laid there, Wonka remembered a day he'd rather not, it was a testy situation, had he been a second later...

Charlie would've paid the price.

X

_It was a was a cold day in Winter, ice and snow covered the streets, intricate frozen tears still fell from the cloudy sky. Winter had shown early, this year, a slight surprise and joy to most. Willy Wonka hated the winter. It was so cold. And that cold matched the one in his heart, and it was as though he was so cold that he'd never be warm again... He had been on his way to the Bucket's house, feet crunching lightly on the icing snow, (he noted that an important growing idea for when Christmas came around) eyes covered with a pair of sunglasses and his usual hat and frock attire. _

Just as he came a few houses away from the Bucket's, his tore his sunglasses away from his face, his widened eyes watched in partial shock as Paco -Charlie in tow- flew out the door and into the road, where a truck was just waiting to hit them both -no, not both- he noted, -Paco's out of the way.- His limbs felt frozen in place, he felt a certain numbness come over him, and he struggled to find his voice.

_"Charlie!" _

Charlie looked in complete horror as the truck neared him, let out a scream, and closed his eyes tightly, waiting for impact. The horn blared harshly in their ears, and the driver let out some last moment muffled curses and shouts, but Wonka made a mad dast, -and at the last second- pushed Charlie and himself into the snowbank on the other side of the road.

Tires screeched and people stared, and gathered around the two people on the side of the road. Wonka was literally on top of Charlie, and he screamed mentally at himself, **Get off of him already you idiot!** But he found he couldn't. Charlie had wrapped his one arm around Wonka's neck, and was practically hold him to his chest. Wonka could hear his speeding heart rate, but he removed the arm from around his neck, as much as Charlie probably needed the comfort at that moment. He rose slowly, he felt the knees of his pantlegs were wet from the snow, and he looked down at Charlie worriedly. The boy's eyes were open to an impossibly large size, tears streaming down his face. "Are you okay?" Dumb question, he thought to himself.

_Wonka could see Charlie's chest heaving, and the boy declined his head. Charlie's parents came out seconds after, worried looks and horror-struck faces on both, and Grandpa Joe followed soon after. "Charlie!" His mother cried, dropping to her knees beside Wonka, who was still looming over him worriedly, but moved aside for Charlie's mother. She helped him stand up, but a whimper from Charlie ceased her actions immediately, and her concern deepened. "What hurts, Charlie?" _

"...My arm..." He mumbled, shifting his weight lightly, but I saw red in the snow next to Charlie's left arm, and I motioned for him to move it. He lifted his buried arm from the snow bank, turning away from it quickly once catching a good glimpse of it. His arm, almost from elbow up, was bleeding profusely, and my eyes went wide and I felt guilty. His arm took the whole of his impact, I thought, and I increased that pressure. I cursed mentally to myself.

_The next few hours went in a blur, pain for Charlie, guilt for Wonka. A while later, filled with many tears and yelps and hugs of comfort, Willy Wonka was going to leave. His grandparents called him over to their bed and he wondered just what he was in for. "Willy Wonka..." Grandpa Joe started, standing beside the bed, "We owe you our dearest thanks and much much more. If you hadn't saved Charlie today," Grandpa Joe gave an audible gulp, followed by nodding, "We'd be a lot worse off than we already are." _

Grandpa shook Wonka's hand, and so did Charlie's father. Charlie's mother hugged him tightly, saying such things as 'God bless you, Willy Wonka, God bless you.' This warmed his heart, but nothing warmed his heart more than when, just as he were to leave, he heard Charlie speak quietly, "Mr. Wonka?" He turned to face the boy, who was in his desk chair, bandaged arm at his side. Charlie walked over to Wonka, and they locked eyes. Wonka had never seen Charlie's eyes so intense as that moment when they shine with tears and sparked with an unexplainable emotion.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Charlie went foreward and wrapped his arms tightly around Wonka's waist, bringing the man to him, causing Wonka to gasp. Wonka soon felt his shirt becoming wet, meaning only one thing: Charlie was crying. Wonka ran his hands through Charlie's short hair, comforting him, and when Charlie stopped crying, Wonka pulled away slightly to look Charlie in the eyes. And though he had no idea what possesed him to say it, Wonka spoke.

"I would do anything in the world for you, Charlie." "

_"Anything?" _

"Anything."

Wonka felt Charlie smile and he, himself left with one. When he closed the door, he swore he heard Grandma Georgina ask, "Why were we thanking that young man?" And he chuckled soflty to himself.

X

Wonka shot up suddenly, his breathing slightly irratic.He was surprised when blue eyes met his own, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw that familiar mop of dark hair. Charlie hadn't changed a bit. They talked for a while; small talk, something that Wonka only spoke with Charlie, though business snuck through occassionally. It was weird, thought Wonka, when an Oompa Loompa came in with a phone, and said, "For Charlie." Charlie cast a confused glance towards Wonka, who shrugged and motioned to the phone.

Wonka became worried only moments after Charlie had accepted the phone, for he had gone pallid and his muscles tense. "Okay... ... No, really... I can leave... ... He'll understand... It's personal... ... Yeah, I'll be home as fast as I can... ... Don't worry. I'll watch where I'm going... ..." Wonka noticed Charlie's voice crack as he said, "Yeah... Bye... ... Love you too." Charlie looked at Wonka with troubled eyes. "I'm really sorry..." Charlie looked down. "I really have to go." Wonka nodded and stood with Charlie.

"What's wrong?"

Charlie averted his eyes from Wonka's, unable to face that piercing stare, knowing that if he did, he would break down right where he was, and he wasn't a child anymore. Wonka acknowledged the silence, and all things considered, he spoke carefully. "Today's your birthday, right Charlie?" Charlie nodded slightly, now facing Wonka. "Well..." He spoke quietly.

"This is for you," and with that he pulled out what appeared to be a chocolate angel. "Though it sounds overrated, I, myself have come to believe that if you eat one of these, it'll grant you one wish. That's why they're on limited release. And judging where this is going, you could use this one wish." Charlie smiled at Wonka, accepting the angel with both hands, and in a flash, he had hugged Wonka around the neck, whispering a 'Thank you,' in Wonka's ear. He left with the angel still in his hands, speeding up the further he went.

I'll check up on him tomorrow, Wonka thought. Yes, tomorrow.

X

And that's what he did. Willy Wonka was completely unprepared for what met him when he came to the Bucket's the next afternoon. It was as though if the Depression had struck. The air seemed thick, Charlie's family seemed relatively the same, but they seemed tense and worried, upset and uneasy. When he walked in, the first thing he noted was that Mrs. Bucket looked as though if she had been crying, as did most others. The next thing he _really_ noticed, was that Grandma Georgina was missing from bed, and in her spot was the one and only, Charlie Bucket.

Noting his confused expression, Mrs. Bucket first took off his hat and coat, and then explained quietly, "Grandma Georgina... She... Passed away yesterday. She was buried late last evening, and... Well, most of us have experienced it before, Charlie on the other hand... He took the blow quite personally." She walked over to Charlie and sat next to him on the bed, the others' eyes following her as she sat and began running her hands through his hair. "We're worried about him... He hasn't eaten anything but a small piece of chocolate from after he left your factory..."

"I'll take him upstairs," Wonka offered. She nodded and he walked beside her, turning Charlie gently around, noting the tears stains that streaked down his cheeks in patterns, and feeling guilty and he carefully loosened the grip that Charlie had on Grandma Georgina's pillow. Charlie let out a light whimper when Wonka first brought him into his arms, but Charlie then settled with just snuggling into Wonka's shirt, gripping it lightly.

Charlie did feel lighter, Wonka thought as he climbed the ladder to upstairs, jumping slighly as he heard Charlie mumble his name. As he settled them both on the bed, Charlie in his lap, he jumped again as Charlie stirred in his sleep. As he awoke, Wonka noticed Charlie's eyes water slightly, but he was well prepared for the onslaught of tears which bombarded down Charlie's cheeks.

Surprisingly, it didn't take long to calm Charlie down from his distressed state, and the boy didn't seem to mind Wonka holding him close, making patterns in the depth of the small of his back, or even the simple running of Wonka's hands in his hair. He settled Charlie on the bed and stood, walking over to the dresser and observed the angel on it, who was missing the very tip of her wing. He broke off both wings, offered one to Charlie, who accepted it but looked questioningly to Wonka.

"Chocolate always made me feel better, no matter what the circumstances. I figured it could work with you too."

Charlie smiled at him and ate the piece slowly, treasuring the taste. When both were done with their own, Charlie made a demanding step when he took Wonka's hand and noted outloud the chocolate which had smeared on his fingers. "Let me help you with that," he purred, taking each of Wonka's fingers and sucking on each of them in turn. But before Charlie could make his way to Wonka's index finger, he had already outlined Charlie's lips in chocolate.

Feeling playful himself, he daringly whispered back to Charlie, "Let me help you with _that_," he said, his breath warm and tickling Charlie's ear. Wonka looked carefully into Charlie's eyes, making sure that he wouldn't mind in the silghtest, and to his joy, Wonka found no reluctance in Charlie's crystiline eyes, only love and acceptance. Leaning foreward slightly, Wonka could feel Charlie's breath, and without further pausing, his lips met with Charlie's.

The first was a dry one, but the passion could be felt even through that simple action, that one kiss. Soon lips met more needingly, fingers clasped and entwined together, bodies melding into the other, desperate and needy and hungry and greedy. Feverant and quick, then they slowed. The rain of kisses left both slightly flustered, and Charlie with a scarlet blush to his ears.

Wonka brought Charlie to him as he laid them both on the bed, holding Charlie's form securely in his arms. Both were lulled to sleep shortly, from what they didn't know. Perhaps their breathing, perhaps the breathing of their hearts. Charlie's head rested on Wonka's chest, rising and falling with the chocolateir's steady breathing.

The only witness to this glorious sight was the wingless chocolate angel which stood with a never changing expression on the dresser.

X

PetPetAngel: ... That's the corniest damn line I think I've ever used. Okay, but that's okay. Writers do that sometimes. **_And an important note: Please don't leave a review saying "aw" cause that really doesn't tell me anything except that you thought it was cute. Not just, "Cute!" either (though you can add it in as a bonus). You don't have to, but I would appreciate if you told me what you liked (or didn't like) about my story and to let me know how I'm doing. Thank you and that is all. _**

Trespasser: Well that was stupid.

PetPetAngel: I thought you're in bed already.

Trespasser: Nope.

PetPetAngel: Any, Ja Ne! R&R!


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